The Underlevels
by Texcatlipoka
Summary: Once a person has gone so far into the belly of Coruscant, there's no way back up. Except one.
1. Chapter 1

**I'd like to offer my sincere thanks and a great big virtual chocolate cake to REV__, who beta-read this story and turned up a number of problems. It's thanks to him, I dare say, that Bel-Rius is the character he is and not the two-dimensional, vaguely established character he might have been. I hope I have done his advice justice and gone some way to explaining why Bel-Rius is the way he is. My only complaint is that he tried to correct my British (i.e. correct) spelling.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing in the SW universe except my own original characters. **

The fumes that emanated from the cryo tubes were poisonous in sufficient doses. Even from where he was, the barely distinguishable odour reached Bel-Rius and revived his earliest memories- visions of a mask held over his face for some perceived slight; being forced to inhale breath after agonising breath of toxicity; the slavemaster watching with a kind of vague indifferent curiosity. But, looking on the two little children huddled beneath the exhaust pipes, Bel-Rius doubted they were aware of the danger. It would probably have made no difference anyway. The lower levels were bitterly cold, and the fumes provided one of the few sources of warmth in this, a world where the sun never shone.

Despite his best efforts, the Jedi couldn't keep from holding the sleeve of his robe over his nose. There was a stench in the lower quadrants that was not repulsive, but simply stifling. It made the joints stiff and the muscles achy. He wondered how the people could ever adapt to it. But then they didn't have a choice. By the time a person had gone this far into the belly of Coruscant, there was no way up again. There was only down, down, into darker, into deeper, into more abandoned.

But how much further down was there? Bel-Rius glanced up. Above, there was no longer sky- between the platforms the towering buildings boxed them in like a vast cave, seeming to lean over them, glowering in black or shades of grey in the darkness of the underlevels. Occasionally a flicker of metal overhead would suggest a passing speeder; but such was the distance that it could have been nothing.

That, so far away, was the world he was used to, the world he had come from.

He turned his attentions back to the underlevels. He stood on a platform that overlooked an entire subculture of the planet's existence- mazes of them, connected by bridges or hovering elevators, stretched up and down and away as far as the eye could see, clinging to their mother towers like some vast infestation. A semi-permeable fog hung over the entire scene, dirtying everything it touched. Little outdated lights battled with it to provide a dim twilight. Occasionally a figure or two would appear briefly, crossing the platforms without missing a step before vanishing into one of the buildings. There were doors everywhere.

With some effort, Bel-Rius turned his attention back to the children sitting under the exhaust pipes. He realised now that they had been watching him for some time. Swiftly Bel-Rius put his sleeve down, berating himself for letting discomfort get the better of him. The last thing he wanted to do was to appear as an outsider, coming into their world to scoff in disgust. He had hoped that his Jedi robes would give him an appearance of benevolence, as a sign that the world above did indeed care somewhat. But so far in his journey they seemed only to have marked him out as one of the 'surface-dwellers.' A man of success. Whether all the residents even recognised the robes of the Jedi, he was no longer sure.

Putting on his warmest tone, he strolled over to the children, brutally conscious of his appearance.

"Hello," he said. "My name is Bel-Rius Geldaman. Would you help me with something?"

The two boys looked up as he spoke to them. One was human; the effects of years of breathing fumes was already showing on him, his chest rising and falling raggedly in a constant struggle for oxygen. His long lank hair, once brown, had been blackened by the pollution, and there were cuts on his face that burned with infection. A chain, seemingly his only possession, was looped over his torso. The second, a blue-skinned Aruzantwilek, lay asleep. The first boy observed this newcomer briefly with a gaze of suspicion- as though wondering what he could possibly be interested in doing here- then looked away.

"I am looking for a man called Ractuul Wogana. Do you know where he is? If you could help I'd be very thankful."

No answer. Bel-Rius tried to meet the boy's eyes, but it was hopeless.

"What is it?" he asked softly. "Are you frightened? Angry? Let me help."

No answer. He squatted to their eye level. "Talk to me. Please. No? Just look at me then. Go on."

Nothing. No reply, no indication that he was there. Bel-Rius felt a little pang of regret as he went for his belt.

"If you'll talk to me- just for a minute- I'll give you this credit," he said, holding up a coin. The boy's head came up and he stared at it briefly, then licked his lips, hovering; with a sigh the Jedi produced another.

"I don't know where he is," the boy answered finally. He reached for the coins but Bel-Rius held them out of his reach.

"What's your name?"

"Mal."

"Mal?"

"Yeah. Can I have…?"

Bel-Rius offered the coins and the boy took them quickly.

"You know anyone who would know where to find him?"

Mal hesitated, then pointed to a door just several paces away. "You could try Rael Qu'esta. He works for him, I think."

Bel-Rius nodded and forced a smile that wasn't returned. "Thank you for the help. But why don't you sit inside if you're cold?"

"They don't let you unless you order something."

"You know, those pipes are dangerous. They may be warm, but the fumes are harmful."

Again there was that blank, suspicious stare. Bel-Rius knew already that by offering money he had created a transaction. Now he had given over his half, Mal must have been wondering what the Jedi was still doing talking to him. Sighing, he forced himself to his feet and made for the door.

The club that Rael-Qu'esta had chosen to make his place of residence looked as though it had, once, many years ago, been on the forefront of the partying scene. A red that might once have been luxuriant, but had since become morose, dominated the small bar and scattered tables. Metallic pods, once used to play holographic films, sat in the corners, long since abandoned. Somewhere a bartender could be heard, or possibly a droid, cleaning cutlery. Two members of an unidentifiable race were sprawled over one table, their eyes rolled back into their sockets. Apart from Rael himself, they were the only customers.

"Rael-Qu'esta?" Bel-Rius asked, knowing by instinct that it was he as he took a seat opposite.

"I am. You a buyer? I don't recognise you."

There was something about Rael that oozed suspicion. To what extent it was his species, to what extent his life, was impossible to discern; but he had a sideways glance that was somehow unnerving, seeming to read the object of its viewing with machine-like precision. His billowing clothes made him look curiously shapeless, though for any who might have thought about attempting something, a small blaster pistol showed on his belt, as if by accident. He had an earring in his right ear, from which hung a sickle-shaped jewel that, with the slightest motion, flashed brilliantly through the light spectrum. It looked out of place on him; and by the toss of his head, it seemed that he knew that and liked it. He said:

"If you're not a buyer you'll have to get someone to introduce you. I don't deal with just anyone, you know."

Bel-Rius gritted his teeth. "I am a Jedi Knight. I have come looking for help to track down a gangster called Ractuul Wogana. If you can help me find him I will pay you; but don't offer me deathsticks again. I don't want them."

Rael nodded but his gaze didn't soften. "Fair enough. Apologies if you consider yourself insulted by the offer. But in these days a buyer can come in any shape."

"Do you know Wogana?"

"What's in this for me?"

"Fifty diactares."

"Make it a hundred and I promise to become suddenly more talkative."

Bel-Rius thought for a moment, then bit back his anger and agreed. "I just need to know where he is. Can you lead me to him?"

"Of course. Almost everyone knows where he is. But may I ask why you're so interested?"

"Because he is a dangerous criminal and a threat to society."

Rael roared with laughter. "My friend, I just tried you to sell you deathsticks! If you were here for criminals you would need a prison ship. What has Wogana done to deserve your wrath over some other 'danger to society'?'"

Bel-Rius had never obtained the talent of telling lies, so he didn't attempt it. "He was involved in a conflict recently in a casino in the upper levels. A suspected rival was targeted and killed by blaster fire from him and members of his gang."

"And? There's more to it than that."

"Wogana was seen to be using a lightsaber in the an attack."

"Ah!" Rael smirked. "The truth comes out. You suspect he has murdered a Jedi? I suppose it would be naïve to imagine the Temple would care unless it had a stake in proceedings. Or maybe it just has hurt pride. No others are allowed lightsabers, eh? Just you good old Jedi Knights, doing your duty wherever you are needed to make yourselves profit."

There were some slights that Bel-Rius couldn't let pass. He leaned closer as he said: "Let me assure you that the Jedi are involved anywhere their help is required. At this very moment Jedi Knights are operating to ensure peace and security in hundreds of systems. If the Jedi Order _did_ only concern itself with its own profit, as you believe, maybe our numbers would not be so few."

Rael shrugged. "Whatever. I'm not interested in arguing with you."

At that moment the door slid open again. Bel-Rius sat back in his seat and looked over his shoulder- it was Mal. The boy walked straight up to their table, his eyes fixed on Rael; swiftly, without a single glance at the Jedi, he produced the two coins Bel-Rius had given him. Rael took them, examined them briefly, then produced a thin case from his pocket. From this he took two sealed tubes filled with red liquid. Mal took them carefully in both hands, his head down, then turned and left, as swiftly as he had come. It was so quick and so deft that Bel-Rius just sat- just sat, even as the boy had handed over the very money he had given him moments ago, right before his eyes, for deathsticks.

Rael noticed his anger and smirked. "What were you expecting?"

"You just sold him deathsticks."

"He just _bought_ deathsticks."

"You're killing him. You're as good as his murderer."

"He wanted them, and I gave them to him."

"I gave him that money myself. Just minutes ago. But he couldn't even wait for me to leave before coming to buy. You have taken his life."

"He gave it willingly."

"You've taken his life and now you are feeding off of it. I'll bet it's the reason you can afford trips to the upper levels. Why you can afford that earring, and that blaster you're making a show of hiding. And then when the money runs out you come back."

"Straight back!"

"How do you sleep at night?"

"Warm and comfortable in an upperlevel hotel- usually."

Suddenly Rael sat up, straight and close, his elbows on the table. "Now unless you want to go on with this, I suggest you calm down. You may think you come down here with the healing hand of the Jedi- with all your righteousness, and your faith, and so forth- but the truth is you can't change a thing. So if you're not going to arrest me… let me take you to Wogana, so I can collect my one hundred diactares. And then we can both agree to never see one another again."

It was not the first time Bel-Rius had been asked to calm down. He had been serving the order now for twenty years. But he was best known for a storm of rage once, many years ago, when he had wrought havoc in a slave colony on the desert planet of Tatooine. He had been heavily scolded for that- but it didn't concern him. All the other tenets he followed, but his anger was something he had never mastered and never intended to master. Perhaps it was because he had once served as an apprentice to Mace Windu- a Jedi whose very power lay on walking the periphery between order and chaos. Regardless, the view that anger was a damaging entity was one that he simply did not understand- anger, if well justified, was the only rational reaction.

Out in the open, Rael set a fast pace, his wavy clothes blending with the fog as he walked. Bel-Rius kept up close behind him, wary by instinct. Around them, platform after similar platform faded in and out of view; occasionally a broken holoscreen would shine out its ancient message at them through the fog, but for the most part it was darkness and silence. They passed through another bar into an enclosed tunnel connecting two skyscrapers. Looking through the glass, Bel-Rius found he could make out tiny black figures below, moving around.

"Yes- we are close to street level now," said Rael, noticing his gaze. "Not that we will be heading any lower. Even Wogana doesn't set foot on the street unless he has to. There are areas down there infested by species so devolved from millennia in darkness and fumes that they have almost lost their sentiency."

They reached the door where the tunnel adjoined the base of the skyscraper. Two humans were huddled in the corner, watching them. Bel-Rius noticed them and turned to Rael.

"I thought the underlevels were overcrowded. Yet, I've seen next to nobody. Where is everyone?"

Rael responded with that same sideways glance of suspicion. "They're in the clubs and the halls. Avoiding the outside. Why do you care?"

"I was simply interested," replied Bel-Rius, shifting under that awful gaze.

"Fair enough; the underlevels certainly have a fascination for those… like you."

From his clothes Rael produced a hand thick with bones. Pressing a switch beside the door, he spoke into the intercom in a hushed tone. After a terse silence the door slid open.

Turning to the Jedi, Rael gave an ironic bow. "This is Wogana's hangout. If you insist on seeing him, keep in mind that you are on his turf. Everyone will be watching your every move. Now-" he extended a hand, "my payment."

Bel-Rius handed it over. "You realise," he added, carefully, "that you told me far prematurely that everyone knew where Wogana was. I could have found someone else and paid them a credit or less for their help."

Rael smirked, almost in triumph. "But you are a Jedi. I knew you wouldn't go against your word. And besides, I found the situation amusing."

Bel-Rius felt his anger rising but he crushed it. "Why amusing?"

"Quite simply because in paying me you have directly funded the trade in deathsticks. Funny, isn't it, how easily money falls into the wrong hands." He started to walk away, then turned and glanced back over his shoulder. "But bear in mind, Jedi: the underlevels are considered poor. But in the end… all the money in the galaxy, from the very limits of the Outer Rim, arrives- in the end- down here."

**--**

End of Part 1

**One more to go. It's already written- will put it up in two to three days. I'd love it if you could review. Tell me how believable a character Bel-Rius is. Tell me if you hate anyone in this story so far and are eagerly awaiting their grisly death. Most importantly, tell me if it sets a powerful, easy-to-follow picture. **

**Thanks. See you soon. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Back again. Final section here. **

**Disclaimer: Still own nothing. **

Bel-Rius watched him walk away for some time, with Rael's words clinging to him. Finally he steeled himself and stepped back up to the doorway.

Inside was a sight that, on the surface, could not have been more different from the bar he had found Rael in. Spotless surfaces and bright lights swirled over the scene of tables set with chairs that curved with an elegant, almost sexual gentleness. A tiny speaker, set above the central bar, filled the room with a haunting yet intentionally suggestive music. Droids milled at the bar- the first he had seen since his descent.

But he was astute enough to see beyond these surface details. Behind the music, behind the curvature of the furniture, there were the same signs of apathy and indifference. The place was sustained, but only by money; when all that dried up, the place would fall swiftly into disrepair. And, most strikingly of all, there was little noise. Many customers, evidently but, glancing around, the Jedi saw few in fit state. Some were already unconscious. Those not yet so deeply under the drug's effects sat shaking, cradling their laced drinks vengefully.

Upon entry, Bel-Rius was approached almost immediately by a Gamorrean, which grunted stupidly as it took his arm. He followed it round the bar to a booth in the far corner, where he could make out a figure, dressed as ever in black, and heavily bejewelled. The Gamorrean elbowed him and held out its thick fingers. When Bel-Rius failed to understand, it pushed him briefly and pointed at his lightsaber.

"I think not," Bel-Rius hissed; but the Gamorrean pressed against him, trying to snatch it away. Bel-Rius struggled but was no match for its strength. Bringing his free hand up, he was on the edge of using the Force when a voice sounded.

"Leave him be- we don't want a massacre in here."

The Gamorrean stopped, obedient, and directed Bel-Rius to the booth.

"You are Ractuul Wogana," said Bel-Rius, taking a seat.

"Correct," said Ractuul, nodding. "And you are Jedi Knight Bel-Rius. I knew you were coming."

Ractuul was an Umbaran. His voice rolled off his tongue in his sly accent and his hollow eyes stared out from greyed skin. Though he barely moved- except for the occasional tilt of his head as his eyes roamed- the many rings and necklaces he wore shone out in a thousand colours, showing jewels mined on a thousand worlds. Somehow, however, the effect of this spectacle was simply to throw Ractuul himself further into shadow.

He was like an ancient burial rite, bedecked in a finery he had no use for and that no longer brightened him.

It was inevitable that Bel-Rius once again felt himself becoming defensive and suspicious. That was a mode of being, he had found, for him in these underlevels.

"How did you know I was coming?" he demanded.

"Rael informed me by intercomlink as soon as you walked into his bar. I take precautions to be aware of what's happening on my levels of the city."

"You own none of this," said Bel-Rius darkly. "You are laying claim to open ground. But these skyscrapers are owned by the highest authorities you can imagine."

Ractuul snorted at that in amusement. He dropped his head for a moment; the dark eyes were pensive. Then he said: "Do you know which skyscraper we are in, Bel-Rius? Any idea? No? This is Megalon-270."

"Megalon? The trade organisation?"

"Indeed. We are somewhere in the base of its largest headquarters. Millions of credits worth of deals are going on above our heads as we speak."

"Impossible…" Bel-Rius had not intended to say that, but when he thought of Megalon-270 as he knew it- as a towering peak, blurry with height- he couldn't help but glance up into the dark ceiling. Ractuul saw where he was looking and smiled.

"Thinking of what must be happening all the way up there? Well, believe it: below the summit of Megalon's largest facility it is just the same as everywhere else. A nightclub; a bar; another part of the undercity. I imagine the workers above us know nothing of what is going on directly below them, right here, at this very moment."

Bel-Rius had had enough of talking. It was as though he could feel all the weight of the upperlevels crushing down on him; feel the endless expanse of the underlevels bearing in. He wanted out. "What's happening is an arrest," he said tautly. "Ractuul Wogana, you are wanted by the Republican authorities for the murder of a Jedi."

"Ah…" Ractuul parted the side of his robe and patted the lightsaber that hung there. "You're talking about this. So the Jedi have come to claim what they consider their own…"

"You are the second person to have said that to me today," Bel-Rius breathed. "Just come quietly with me to the upper levels and we'll avoid any unpleasantries."

"We we're talking about Megalon," Ractuul went on, ignoring him. "About the millions of credits of trade going on right over our heads. Well, I bring it up because it's ironic, you see- because there's almost as much trade going on down here." He motioned to a table where four figures were sat.

"Those four have come into money at some point. They could have luxurious apartments in the upper levels, but it is easier for them down here. To buy deathsticks, that is. They add them to their drinks now. When that becomes too expensive they'll move on to injection. So far they alone have given me no less than two thousand diactares. Two thousand! Can you even picture that much money, Jedi?"

Bel-Rius knew he was being deliberately incited. There was a power about Ractuul that was typical to an extent of an Umbaran, but at a much deeper level. He was hypnotic, entrancing. Every word he said was galvanising and appalling and inciting in equal measure, so that when he talked it was impossible not to listen.

"Let's go now," Bel-Rius pressed, "enough talk."

Ractuul smirked openly for the first time. "Your hands are shaking, Jedi. Why is that so? People tell me my words are poisonous; but in my opinion what is spoken isn't dangerous unless it reveals what is unspoken. What scares you about them? Guilt? But I can tell you aren't using deathsticks yourself. Maybe it's the fact that…"

And he paused for a moment, with Bel-Rius coiled in his seat with every muscle tense.

"… that just today, you yourself contributed to my business. You gave a boy money to buy deathsticks. You gave money to a known dealer. You have fuelled my business. For that… I thank you."

"_Enough!_"

Bel-Rius sprang to his feet in a flash of movement. The Gamorrean started forward but was thrown against the counter in a blast of the Force. At the same instant Bel-Rius' lightsaber flickered out in his hand. The blade whirled momentarily before coming to rest inches from Ractuul's throat.

For a moment there was fear in his eyes, but that quickly turned to mockery and hatred.

"You could be tried for this unprovoked act of aggression, Jedi! I would consider your next move carefully."

"If that's so, then I'll take you down with me. Tell me where you've hid the body and you may just avoid a death sentence."

At this a sneer erupted on Wogana's face that made Bel-Rius' blood boil to see. It was a sneer of pure insolence and pure hatred, born of a lifetime of avoiding the law, of despising its order and its rationality. It was a sneer born of chaos.

"I doubt there will be a sentence of execution," Wogana scoffed. "For you see, there is no body. This saber was given willingly. In fact it was… offered."

Bel-Rius' jaw tightened around gritted teeth. "You're lying!"

"You know you believe me!"

It was true; Wogana had the power to create truth and lies and make them the same, but this was no trick. Bel-Rius knew that in every cell of his body.

"Yes… you do believe me," Wogana went on. "I can see how it burns you. Somewhere within your temple, at this very moment, is a weaponless Jedi. A weaponless Jedi! How amusing a thought it is."

"But why… why would he give it to you? _You_, of all people?"

"Can't you guess?"

Bel-Rius' held the lightsaber closer. "Talk! _Tell me_, or I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

Wogana threw back his head and cackled. "Can't you see!" he cried, "for deathsticks, Jedi! He gave it for deathsticks! What else would he give it for?"

Bel-Rius was stunned. He tried to speak but no words came out. Wogana continued mercilessly, his voice drinking in the Jedi's fury and despair with every word like a sweet, smooth cocktail.

"To think… to think of all your tenets, all your philosophies, all your training and discipline and wisdom and seeking- swept away in a narcotic haze! There is something so perfect about deathsticks. Exquisite pleasure that leaves you needing more. That, Jedi, is a power greater than any army, any organisation, any _religion_! Remember that."

Bel-Rius had put his saber away. The acceptance of defeat weighed heavily on his eyes.

"What about the murder?" he asked listlessly. "Someone will need to be taken."

"Arrest some little people," said Ractuul offhandedly. "You know as well as I that no-one would dare attempt to try me considering the… sensitivity of proceedings."

Bel-Rius nodded. He wanted to be angry with Ractuul- so angry. But he found now that all his anger for the undercity was gone.

"Do you want the saber back?" asked Wogana, smirking. "It's of no use to me. I accepted it only out of principle."

Bel-Rius shook his head. "It wouldn't matter. It would never be claimed. Most likely your buyer will build another in secret."

"Fair enough."

And, for the last time Bel-Rius would see, Ractuul's lips curled up slightly, into a final smirk of victory. It was as though he had been engaged in some thrilling and dangerous game that was only now reaching its conclusion. The drug-baron waved a hand and several huge Gamorrean guards approached. Bel-Rius put up no resistance as they hustled him swiftly across the bar and outside.

Back in the tunnel, there was nothing but a return of silence. The two humans in the corner glanced up as he was thrown out, then rapidly looked away, a slight wariness about them being the only acknowledgement of his existence. Below them, the little black figures moved about just as before, unaware of the proceedings.

As he staggered up, Bel-Rius considered how he could possibly have acted so foolishly. He had directed himself to the wrong side of the city. What Rael had said was true: he was not needed.

There would be no arrests.

Not here.

**--**

**End. **

**Good? Review please. I'd most like to know if you understand why Bel-Rius appears to just 'give up' (as REV put it) at the end of the story. I have tried to clarify it, but I still don't want the reason to be glaringly spelt out as that's the point at which a story becomes a mission statement (e.g. so you don't like homophobes, so let's write a story in which homophobes are brutally murdered). It should be discernible but not immediately obvious. Sorry if that sounds complex. Maybe I'm just being stupid and I should spell it out more. Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading. If you'd be interested in reading any more of these one or twoshots should I do them, do let me know. **


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